Jac. 'Twere good she had a little foolish mony,
To rub the time away with.
Host. Not a rag,
Not a Deniere, no, let her spin a Gods name:
And raise her house again.
Jac. Thou shalt not dye though:
Boy see your Master safe delivered,
He's ready to lye in.
Host. Good night.
Jac. Good morrow,
Drink till the Cow come home, 'tis all pay'd boyes.
Lod. A pox of Sack.
Host. Marry [God] bless my Buts, Sack is a Jewel,
'Tis comfortable, Gentlemen.
Jac. More Beer boy,
Very sufficient single Beer.
Boy. Here Sir.
How is it Gentlemen?
Jac. But ev'n so, so.